


Scandalwood Tales: Missed Connections

by Anonymous



Series: Scandalwood: Tales of Dick Booping, PI [4]
Category: Fail_Fandomanon RPF
Genre: Boop noir, Detective Noir, Jealousy, M/M, Pining, Private Investigators
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-25
Updated: 2015-04-25
Packaged: 2018-03-25 15:51:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3816178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dick Booping and Pink Whitecock think about each other and maybe Dick is moving on with a new friend, Jay Twigg.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scandalwood Tales: Missed Connections

Booping poured himself the last of the whisky Whitecock left behind. He swung his chair around to look out over the busy street in the dimming light of dusk.

Spring must be coming, if the rapidly disappearing cruddy piles of snow on the sidewalks meant anything. People rushed about, coming and going from the miseries of work to the miseries of home. Maybe he should join them, pop into the local bar for a drink and make himself forget about the overdue rent.

The sharp tang of the whiskey brought the memory of Whitecock sitting in this office. An age ago it felt like, not like last week at all. A brief short oasis of joy in a bleak month.

Booping closed his eyes as the pain of the memory rolled over him like steam escaping from the sidewalks. Whitecock was an ocean away in a pleasant land of green grass and fragrant flowers. He sighed and gave into the siren call of the bar.

He never heard that longed for familiar ringtone as he left his cell phone behind in the office.

~~~~~

Rain pounding against the windows woke him. The pounding in his head kept him up after that. Whitecock gingerly opened his eyes, suddenly finding the ceiling a fascinating object of study.

He couldn't tell where he left off and his bed started. He felt around his bedside table for his phone and ended up knocking the champagne bottles off instead. Oh, he guessed, it had been one of those nights.

Running his hand through his unruly hair, he stretched and yawned. He propped himself on the bed taking in the wrack and ruin. Bottles and glasses covered every available surface, lamp knocked to the floor, clothes flung around.

Noise from the bathroom roused him. Maybe it was that lovely model from the bar, the one with the green eyes and amazing biceps. Or that lawyer with the sharp wit and an ass you bounce a quarter off. More noise from the kitchen told him that it was both.

Whitecock groaned. He did not know if he had the energy at all this morning to face both men.

His cell rang and rang, the ringtone searing into his fuzzy brain. He finally found it under a thong. He shouldn't answer but if it was a client ... they paid the bills, not his bar boys. "Whitecock here," he grunted.

"Why did you call me last night?" Booping growled.

He called Dick? He checked his phone. He had called one, twice, twenty-five time. "Mistake?" Whitecock sat on the edge of his bed, the mirror catching a picture of him in his birthday suit and a nice big purple bruise on his collarbone.

"There was panting," Booping stated.

"I was at a bar?" he offered. "You stick the phone in your pocket and those stools, and the crowd ...." What did he do? Oh, god, what did he say?

"You said something about a case. That's why I called. About the case."

The lawyer showed up with a broad smile on his face and tray full of breakfast. "Good morning, Pink. Ready for more?" Whitecock stared at the gorgeous man wearing only an apron.

"Who is that?" Booping asked. "No, don't answer that. I don't need to know."

"Ah, Dick, I'll call later."

"Don't bother, Whitecock," Booping snapped.

It didn't pay to wake up some days, in all honesty, Whitecock thought. 

~~~~~

He supposed it must be spring when he saw his first green weed popping up between the cracks of the sidewalk. Not that Dick cared much. One day seemed much like another these days. Too many late nights filled with booze, smoke and blood. Too many mornings of coffee and stale donuts.

Sighing, he arrived at the law offices of Twigg and Berries. Another day, another case, another dollar. He bided his time in the antiseptic waiting room full of bland magazines and non-descript furniture. The receptionist pointedly tried to ignore that Dick was occupying a chair in her waiting room.

Called to an office in the back, Dick sat across from Jay Twigg. The office was as cold and sterile as the waiting room despite the framed diplomas, plaques, and certificates covering the walls. Twigg sorted through the pile of files on his desk. “This one,” he said handing over the file.

Dick had worked with Twigg on many cases. Nothing ever out of the ordinary, just missing persons, petty fraud, cheating. But this is how Dick supported his stale donut habit. “What’s it about?”

“I have a client about go to trial for fraud, theft and extortion. He claims that he is innocent. Says that some fixer he hired can testify to what really happened.”

“You believe him?”

Twigg, a tall, lanky man with piercing green eyes and light brown hair, shrugged. Dick admired his cynicism. Never blinded by the lies his clients told him, Twigg loved law as much as he loved his money. And he’d sell out his own mother for ten dollars. “I need that guy in three days.”

Dick opened the file. He shouldn’t have been surprised. He’d lived and seen too much. He still nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw Whitecock staring back at him from the picture clipped to the file folder. “Pink Whitecock?”

“I know,” Twigg said, his nose wrinkling in disgust. “A nasty piece of work.”

Dick sunk into his chair. “I might have some leads. You need him in person or just contact information?”

“I need him in court. Do what you can.”

Dick lurched to his feet. “I’ll be in touch.” He hadn’t bothered to call Whitecock back after Whitecock called with his latest conquest next to him in bed.

“Booping, wait,” Twigg called after him as Dick reached for the door. “Cripes, you look like you haven’t eaten a good meal in days. Here – take this.” He waved a stack of twenties at Dick.

Reluctant, but needing the money, Dick folded the money and shoved the wad in a coat pocket. “An advance on the case?”

“You could call it that.” Twigg steepled his fingers. “You need some looking after. It’s a rough life as a private dick. A sharp, smart, good-looking man like you could do a lot better.”

“That’s life.” Dick shrugged.

“Well, maybe, I worry about you. Then you got shot –“

“It was a scratch.”

“Right.” Twigg tapped the table. “We should have dinner sometime.”

“A client-detective dinner?”

“Whatever type of dinner you’d like to call it.”

Dick had heard this from Twigg before. Twigg was decent enough for an ambulance-chasing lawyer. But today, Dick was running on empty. The light shone on Twigg’s eyes in just the right way and a weary Dick could feel every bit of the weight of his years. “Maybe. Got a job to finish first.”

“See you soon, Dick. You know where I am.”

Life was not fair, only a series of compromises and gambles. Twigg wasn’t so bad. It would only be dinner. Dick could live through anything. He’d think of that later.

First he had to find whatever rat hole Whitecock was hiding in.

~~~~~

He’d been laying low for the past two weeks. Even he was holed up in an expensive suite in the priciest hotel in the city with exquisite room service. He refused to talk at all to Twigg and Berries about their idiotic client who was desperately trying to save himself from prison like a drowning rat clinging to a piece of wood.

He only wished that they hadn’t dragged Booping into their schemes. Poor honest deluded Booping who dreamt that people were at their heart good and decent. Only to be taught again and again how wrong he was.

Tonight Whitecock had dinner with an important client. Another one of those cases where he’d have to hide the bodies, bury the secrets and take out the trash. He got paid well for his services.

Whitecock scanned the dining room. As a collector of secrets, he knew a lot about the gathered crowd. Like the man in the designer suit and slicked back hair at the bar who had embezzled at least $600,000 from his hedge fund job. Or that close and cozy couple over in the corner, giggling over wine and chocolate desserts -- the woman dripping in jewels and in the Paris fashion had hired Whitecock to find out if her loving husband had been cheating on her. He had with numerous people, but she was also up to her neck in boytoys. Nearly everyone in the room had a similar story. The waiter sneaking wine between orders, the maitre d’ scamming for bribes for tables.

Except for Dick Booping -- seated at a table across from the scuzzy Jay Twigg. Unlike his usual rumpled dumpster chic, Booping was decked out in a tailored suit, his wavy brown hair carefully styled, and an alluring smile on his face, so unlike the familiar scrowl.

Oh.

He should hit that like a piano dropped from 10-story building hits pavement.

Whitecock didn’t want to talk to Twigg. In a city full of corrupt lawyers Twigg reigned supreme. Twigg was probably trying to get Booping to cough up information about where he was.

He found his client but he gave a lingering look back. Booping laughed at something Twigg said and it was a beautiful laugh that lit up his handsome face.

A possessive rage filled Whitecock. He wanted to stomp over, put a hand on Booping’s shoulder, and let Twigg know exactly where he stood with Dick and that Dick would be going home with him. He would drag Dick back to his hotel, show him exactly what he thought about Dick and give him a reason to never ever look at another person that way again.

He hesitated long enough that Booping or Whitecock could notice him.They were too wrapped up into each other to notice him standing and glowering in their direction.

Whitecock had to meet a client. He had to go. But he was not going to forget what he saw anytime soon.

~~~~~

After seeing Booping in the restaurant, Whitecock was haunted by what he saw.

The painful memory of Booping laughing at Twigg's jokes floated in his mind as Whitecock rode in a cab through pounding cold rain and over greasy streets. He never thought that Booping would ever sink so low as to go on a date with someone like that.

He knew Booping. Knew how he handled a gun and his whiskey. How he fought hard for ungrateful clients against the world's unfairness, misery and uncaring. How he brushed his unruly hair out of his eyes.

The cab came to an abrupt stop in front of a nondescript building. Whitecock shoved a couple of bills at the cab driver and strode off to meet his client the Senator who wanted a difficult mistress to disappear.

The Booping problem would have to wait until later.


End file.
